


there are no heroes (or villains)

by airplanetrails



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Lots of drinking, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Survivor Guilt, well possibly lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airplanetrails/pseuds/airplanetrails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of mutual self-discovery where Harry and Draco learn that they are not defined by what they did. </p><p>He doesn’t have to be the hero.<br/>He doesn’t have to be the villain.<br/>They are just two people who did what they had to do.</p><p>And in the process they may just fall in love</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. some heroes need to be saved

_A hero who needs to be saved._

 

Harry laughed bitterly as he viciously crossed out the words he had unconsciously scribbled onto his Muggle studies essay parchment. He was still 6 inches away and all he could think about was how Dennis Creevey walked past him today and forced a smile at him before running off. No he didn’t expect him to come up and worship him, but it was obvious he was avoiding Harry, and he knew why. 

 

The same way parents who had lost their children were avoiding him. He was their “saviour” yet he was also the boy who had convince their children to fight and to die. The dark lord may have started all this, but he was the one who had them practice the Expelliarmus spell in the Room of Requirement that first day. He was alive and they were dead. 

 

Rationally, he knew that it was not his fault. That they had fought willingly and that he was not at fault for being alive. He could still hear Hermione’s stern voice after she found him hiding inside an abandoned classroom surrounded by empty Firewhisky bottles and the names of the fallen etched onto each bottle, trying to drink himself to death or at least temporary oblivion. “You lived. It’s not your fault that you lived. Neither is it your fault that they died. It’s just how the world works sometimes Harry. You can’t save everyone. Please Harry. Just go to bed. I promise tomorrow will be better.” which had been followed by him being guided by Hermione back to the dorms and then oblivion.

 

Hermione had always been the rational one. He had always been the one too overcome by emotions, driven by fear, anger, revenge, envy, pride and now he was having a go with guilt. Guilt was not a great partner. _It’s your fault she has no problem calling George by the right name now. You should be dead. It’s your fault you can’t answer when Teddy asks for his parents. They didn’t deserve to die. They could have done so much more with their lives than you are now. Heroes are mean to stay dead._ There was only so many time he could hear the same words over and over again before he began to believe them. No matter how valiantly he fought. Voldemort didn’t have shit on guilt. At least Voldemort was upfront about wanting him dead. Guilt ate him from the inside out. 

 

But occasionally he would have a brief respite from the taunting in his head when there was a holiday. He would go to Hogsmeade and have a mug of Butterbeer with Ron and Hermione just like the old times, and they would talk about trivial things like how Professor McGonagall would look if her hair were blue, how Seamus and Dean were most definitely getting it on. And he would be in a good mood until he saw someone he knew sitting in hogs head pub alone with a Firewhisky and swollen red eyes and then it would return. 

 

Yet what right did he have to be sad? He didn’t lose a brother. He was alive. He was suppose to be the hero. The figure head of the better age. 

 

No right at all. 

 

_Heroes are meant to stay dead._ He tore that scrap of paper with those words and stuffed it into his cloak. A reminder of sorts that he should be happy to be alive. 

 

“Harry! Let’s go we’re going to be late for Potions.” Hermione yelled, knocking on his door frantically. 

 

“Alright alright I’m coming.” he cast a glance at the mess of his desk and sighed. Somehow defeating the dark lord had seemed easier than the insurmountable task of the 6 inch essay on the usage of televisions. Accio-ing his Potions textbook from some corner under the jumble of papers he took a deep breath and set his face into a neutral look and prepared to face an hour of Malfoy’s critical eyes judging his every move. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

They were suppose to be brewing the Draught of Living Death - which Slughorn had declared with enthusiasm that wouldn't have been out of place at a Weird Sisters concert. 

Apparantly Slughorn had a dark sense of humour when he declared that “Harry should have no problem with this, but the rest of you might find this challenging.” Harry couldn’t even dignify that with a forced grin and was mildly satisfied when there was only silence that met Slughorn. Making a point not to look up, he reached for the infusion of sloth brain in front of him but was halted by the pale hand grabbing his wrist. Instinctually he snatched it back, turning to glare at the grey eyes that met his with the same arrogance. 

“You’d think that without a world to save, you would actually pick up a book for once. I guess I thought wrong.” drawled Malfoy, rolling his eyes in the way that made Harry’s blood boil the way it had not since the war started, from just plain annoyance. It was refreshing. 

Almost instinctually, he shot back, the words falling out of his mouth before he could think, “Maybe I’m too busy picking up girls to pick up a book, unlike you. I hear Madam Pince is about to award you the practically-living-in-the-library prize.” 

Raising his oh-so-aristocrat-arched eyebrow, Malfoy was obviously not fazed, almost taunting Harry as if to say is that all you’ve got? Determinedly Harry continued glaring at Malfoy, he refused to be the first to break eye-contact, which was as good as admitting he had lost to Malfoy. 

“Sure. I’ll take your word for it then. Millicent will be glad to hear you are ‘picking up girls’.” Malfoy said, shrugging and turning back to their table. “Also it’s the wormwood first.” he muttered, shoving the bottle of infusion to Harry’s side of the table without even glancing at him as he intently studied the asphodel that suddenly seemed so interesting. 

“Thanks.” Harry reached for the bottle, smiling softly to himself expecting no reply as usual. 

“...no problem.” Malfoy practically choked out. But it had been the first thing Malfoy said for the longest time that wasn’t an insult, so Harry considered it a great leap of progress.

They worked seamlessly after that, trading ingredients and instruments with ease that only familiarity brought, seeming to know exactly what the other needed without words needing to be traded. To everyone around them, the two boys were in their own world, a completely different level from them, a well-oiled potion making machine that rivalled Hermione. But to Harry, it was all bubbling cauldrons, the sounds of metal against a wooden board, pale slim hands and silent company. It was the most peaceful place in Hogwarts now. 

How ironic for the hero to find peace in a dungeon. 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorry for the shortness (it's all exams fault)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


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